


the sweetest taste i've known

by Miyai



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Age Difference, Daddy Kink, Denial, M/M, Pining, Romantic Cliches, accidental sugar daddy!Tony, cause that's the kind of person I am, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-10 12:45:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14737208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miyai/pseuds/Miyai
Summary: Honestly, Tony should have seen this whole thing coming a long time ago. Hindsight’s a goddamn bitch.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shout-out to Stark1975 for the quick and amazing beta! You're awesome!
> 
> Title from "Sugar Daddy" by Hedwig And The Angry Inch. Yes, that's the kind of person I am.

Honestly, Tony should have seen this whole thing coming a long time ago. Hindsight’s a goddamn _bitch_.

 

*

 

It started out innocently enough: for Peter’s sixteenth birthday, Tony wanted to get him something. Totally normal, right? The kid had definitely earned it, what with helping Tony in times of need in Germany and the whole friendly neighborhood Spider-Man business. And Tony had an obscene amount of money while the kid didn’t. Easy equation. No reason not to, really.

Tony was in fact a bit proud that he’d remembered Peter’s birthday was coming up. He’d gotten better at keeping track of stuff like that – character development, yay for him.

Tony considered his options, pointedly not thinking about all the gifts he used to shower Pepper with back when, in a desperate yet misguided attempt to make up for all his other failings.

In the end, he simply went with the newest StarkPhone. He’d seen the Android travesty the kid was using now, and that just would not do.

The smile lighting up Peter’s face when Tony presented his gift a week later was refreshingly genuine. Tony had to hide his smile when he saw the reverent way in which Peter was holding the phone, like cradling a baby, precious cargo. And he didn’t even know yet what tweaks and special upgrades Tony had done to the phone.

For the rest of the day, while they were running calculations in the workshop, upgrading the Spider-Suit together (‘cause someone had to teach the kid how it was done), Peter would keep smiling at Tony when he thought the older man wasn’t looking, something soft and akin to hero worship shining in his big eyes.

It had been a long time since Tony had felt this good about himself.

 

*

 

A few weeks later, Tony went to Germany for the first time since the, ahem, _altercation_ in Leipzig. He tried to push the memories down, deep into the recesses of his mind, locked them up and left. It worked moderately well.

Still, Tony Stark couldn’t avoid an entire country just because he’d had a fight with his (friends, family) colleagues there.

Bringing home souvenirs for the ones he cared about had always come naturally for him. So what if the pile of things he brought back to the States with him, was almost entirely made up of Expo tech, shiny new gadgets and freshly developed technology, some of it still in beta, all of it for Peter? He simply knew what the kid liked, what he would genuinely enjoy. Sue him for _maybe_ having lost control a little when this was the first time he felt sure of what to get someone.

 

*

 

Peter valiantly tried to refuse the souvenirs, “no, r-really, Mr. Stark, it’s too much, I can’t accept this”, but Tony had seen the hunger in Peter’s expression when he’d first laid eyes on the tech, which made trying to refuse Tony an exercise in futility. Peter was going to take it, no matter what he said.

Considering that Tony had already been a stubborn ass when the kid hadn’t even been born yet, it was no wonder that, in the end, Peter caved. He hemmed, and hawed, but then he finally, finally shut up.

Tony didn’t expect the hug for his trouble, especially when he had rejected the kid’s affections so many times before. He simply hugged back, still a little baffled. Surely this couldn’t be this big of a deal?

It seemed that way, though, so Tony shut up and grinned to himself, accepting the kid’s weirdly satisfying gratitude.

 

*

 

It didn’t take long for Tony to notice the condition of Peter’s jeans, obviously worn down, fraying at the knees and hems, and not in that artificial way that’s supposed to show off how little of a fuck you give –  it was the unintentional kind of wear and tear.

Now that he thought of it, most of Peter’s clothing seemed to be a bit past its prime, and Tony couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it earlier. It was so obvious now that the kid desperately needed some new clothes.

Before he could stop himself, he gave the loops on the back of Peter’s jeans a playful tug, hoping this would come across the right way, more playful than patronizing.

“Hey, kiddo, you do know you can ask me if you ever need anything?” 

Peter turned to look at him, confused. “Yeah, I – obviously. I mean, you’ve already made me the suit, and then you gave me the phone, which was so nice, I love it! Seriously, Mr. Stark, I’m good. But I know you’re here, erm, here for me, so…” He trailed off, apparently still not quite getting what Tony was trying to say.

And Tony appreciated it, he really did. All of his life, he’d been surrounded by people asking for things, demanding stuff, having their own agenda (with a few exceptions, of course), so it was a nice change of pace for Peter to be so very obvious guileless and earnest in his interactions with Tony, simply happy to have his attention. It made Tony want to give him even more nice things.

Well, if Peter wasn’t getting it – not like Tony needed permission to spend money. He made a mental note to order some nice, form-fitting Versace jeans for Peter later and have them shipped directly to his apartment.

 

*

 

“You shouldn’t have, Mr. Stark, really, we’re – Aunt May and I, we’re _fine_ , I promise! You don’t need to – “

Tony waved off Peter’s protests. “Stop doing that, kid. I wanted to give you a little pick me up, and so I did. No reason to get your brand-new panties in a twist.”

Peter blushed, presumably at the reminder that the clothing care package Tony sent him had indeed contained everything he might need, jeans, shirts, new shoes – and underwear. Well, obviously not panties, because Peter was sixteen, and Tony, contrary to popular belief, was not a pervert.

The underwear thing was probably toeing the line a little, or a lot, but Tony just wanted to see Peter taken care of. The kid had enough on his plate, being Spider-Man, managing high school, which Tony remembered being a bitch, and all that jazz. He shouldn’t have to worry about the bare necessities as well, screw you, Baloo.

“So, how are things?” Tony asked while gesturing for the waiter to refill his Bourbon. He and Peter had been tinkering in the workshop the whole day, yet _again_ , the only sign of the passage of time the sudden growling of Peter’s stomach. Peter had blushed, oh so embarrassed, which was just precious. Tony didn’t know how the world hadn’t eaten the kid up yet, complete with spoon and sugar on top.

Ordering food had been done one too many times lately, and so they found themselves here, in an upscale restaurant in Manhattan. Tony had insisted on the place. Peter was obviously overwhelmed, having gone along with it despite everything, and slightly uncomfortable in his casual street clothes. They’d have to do something about that soon.

Peter shrugged, and looked down at his plate where his caramelized calf-liver spread was painstakingly arranged. It was obvious that the arrangement was supposed to showcase the cook’s plating skills instead of letting the food speak for itself. Still, it tasted incredible.  “Like I said, it’s fine, well, May is still kinda pissed that I kept so much stuff from her, and I get, I really do, but it’s still not so great. Sometimes she just _looks_ at me, you know? Like she doesn’t recognize me anymore or something, and I hate it. Oh, and Ned, I’ve mentioned Ned before, right? He has a girlfriend now. Or something like a girlfriend, a maybe-date, and he talks about nothing else so I -” Suddenly, Peter stopped, an adorable flush creeping onto his cheeks. “Oh God, I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, I didn’t mean to ramble, you probably don’t care about that. You totally meant the suit, right?”

To his surprise, Tony found that yes, he did care even though he couldn’t exactly relate. The kid was so passionate in everything he did, and said, that it was nice to just float along for a change and watch the glimmer of excitement in his eyes.  Even he knew better than to voice that thought aloud, though, so he just gestured for Peter to go on.

When the check came, in a discreet black leather folder, Tony didn’t even look at it.

 

*

 

After that, it became something of a habit for them to go out to eat. Tony embarked on a mission to show Peter the best restaurants around the New York area, his awe at the food so gratifying and fondly amusing to Tony. Every time, Peter seemed a bit less uncomfortable, so Tony counted that as a win. Of course, he had to buy the kid a proper, bespoke suit after it grew obvious that this was going to be more than a one-time thing. If it was going to go on for a while, Peter would need to fit in and look the part.

In the end, Tony was happier about the suit than Peter was, which was just par for the course. It was still hard for the kid to accept things that weren’t food or Spider-Suit related.

“Are you sure this is necessary?” Peter asked skeptically, spinning slowly in front of the mirror in the dressing room. “It feels weird, I don’t mean to be ungrateful, and this suit is really, really awesome, but you’ve spent so much money already, Mr. Stark.” He looked at Tony with his big eyes, and Tony swallowed back his instinctive response of _oh there’s so much more where that came from, baby_. It was probably time he got laid again, the stress and the break-up with Pepper had been some while ago. That was definitely the reason Peter looked so appealing in the well-fitted black suit, nothing else, nothing to see here, people.

Tony just smirked, _Don’t sweat it, you can wear it a lot, so it’ll balance out the price, maybe if you finally get a girl and you take her out, no, Peter, I’m serious_ , and handed the tailor’s assistant his credit card.

 

*

 

To absolutely no one’s surprise, the press blew everything right out of proportion when Peter and Tony had been spotted together at one too many a pricey place. All it took was a paparazzo, just a singular guy, that was in the wrong place at the exact right time.

Tony snorted when he read the headline, _Tony Stark and the New Man in his Life?_ , _Stark and New Boytoy Seen at Pierre Michelle’s_ , and, his absolute favorite, _Sugar Daddy Tony Stark? Who is the mysterious sugar baby on the billionaire’s arm?_ Despite himself he kind of had to admire the gossip rags’ unwavering resolve to make everything sound salacious.

Every time he thought the rainbow press couldn’t get worse, they stooped lower than even Tony anticipated. Oh well. It wasn’t like they were doing something illegal, no matter what the little twinge in Tony’s stomach at the accusations told him. He shouldn’t feel called out, he decided. What for?

Pepper, when she stormed in half an hour later while Tony was elbow-deep in one of his favorite cars, grease-stained and sweaty, told him pretty vividly exactly what for.

“You know what this looks like, Tony, don’t pretend like you don’t! You’ve done a lot of stupid things in your lifetime, I swear to God, Tony, but this is just –“

“Completely untrue and blown out of proportion,” Tony interrupted her rant before she could move on from this particular thing to all his other failings in general. “Just tabloid reporting. They’ve said worse about me. Remember that one time they claimed to have found my long-lost twin brother, Ross? Why Ross? What was up with that?”

“It’s only manageable now because they don’t know who is yet, and how old he is,” Pepper said, accusatory, “and you better make sure they don’t find out. The implication in the media of you having… that kind of relationship, that’s unfortunate. But if statutory rape comes into it? Then we’ll have a whole new mess to deal with. I, specifically, _I_ will have to deal with it, and I really don’t have the time right now, with the new subsidiary, and the Thompson merger.” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Tony stomped down the vague feeling of guilt. If anyone could do, it was Pepper. When he said as much, she smiled tiredly.

“I just wish you would think, Tony, before you go and make my job that much harder.”

 “Not my fault the whole media apparatus consists of money-hungry hacks,” Tony offered, in way of apology, not much of one, he knew that. “It’s really not what it looks like.”

Pepper lifted one incredibly judgey eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”

“Jesus, Pep, he’s sixteen.”  A sixteen-year-old to the thought of whose soft skin and pliant body Tony had jerked off a few times over the last months, but that wasn’t anyone’s business. Didn’t mean anything, anyway.

Pepper didn’t look mollified by that in the least, and she only calmed down after Tony had sworn up and down that nothing had happened, and no, nothing was _going_ to happen.

She left an hour later, but not before admonishing Tony to consider the effect this could have on SI’s image and, by extension, stocks.

Tony sighed and went back to his cars.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the positive feedback, like wow <3

“Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“What?” Peter looked at Tony over his shoulder, his feet still splashing in the pool, the water sparkling in the hot Cali sun. His back was pale, and already starting to burn a little. Tony should really remind the kid to use sunscreen so his back wouldn’t start peeling soon. Not because Tony would love to help apply the cream to Peter’s back, no. That wasn’t it at all.

 “All… this,” Tony said, vaguely encompassing the entirety of his Malibu house that had been rebuilt after the whole Mandarin affair, even though Tony didn’t really live here anymore.  “The clothes, the tech, well, probably not the tech, ‘cause I can’t imagine a point where tech would make you uncomfortable, boy wonder.”

Don’t get Tony wrong, he thoroughly enjoyed spoiling the kid, making his life as easy as an ass-load of money could make it. That’s why he had grabbed Peter, dumped him into his private jet, and brought him over to California, so the kid could enjoy his Labor Day weekend in style, a reward kind of thing to let him know how great he was doing. Like Tony’d said, trying to break the cycle of shame, right?

“So, do you think I buy you too much stuff?”

“Um, yes?” Peter said without hesitation. “Seriously, Mr. Stark. You do so much for me, and still you –  I mean, I do like it here, this is like the best Labor Day weekend ever, but obviously you, erm, don’t need to, it’s really not necessary.”

Tony quirked an eyebrow. “It’s not?”

Peter flushed, caught between embarrassment and something else that Tony chose to interpret as a kind of guilty gratitude. Because, Lord help him, he did know what May and Peter’s financial situation looked like, how Peter’s aunt often struggled to make ends meet. He’d seen the shoebox size of Peter’s room. Imagine the situation when Peter would go to college.

So yes, call him a dirty capitalist if you want, but Tony definitely believed most things, if not everything he gave Peter, was necessary. Tony had more money than he could spend in a lifetime anyway. As long as Peter was alright with it, beneath all the layers of _oh no this is too much,_ and _I couldn’t possibly_.

Communication was key, after all, which was something Tony wished he’d learned some ten years earlier.

“I mean, there’s not much I can do to stop you, right?” Peter blushed an even darker shade of red, looking away.

Tony just grinned and took a sip of his fifty-dollar Gin Tonic. “Oh, Mr. Parker, you have no idea.”

 

*

 

The next time a Technology Expo, capitalized and trademarked, came around, Tony decided to take Peter with him. Ever since the kid had divulged that going to Germany last year had been his first time abroad, out of state even except for Washington, DC, Tony had been itching to take Peter traveling, some kind of _I can show you the world_ instinct.

The Stark internship gave them the perfect cover, too.

The whole journey, Peter was even more ramble-y and overexcited than usual, which had Tony leaning back and just letting the kid’s enthusiasm run the show. Peter decided where to go once they’d arrived in Berlin, what sights to visit, where to have dinner and try to withstand the terrible jetlag. Or maybe that was just Tony’s advanced age rearing its ugly head, since Peter seemed completely unaffected which made Tony a little jealous if he was being completely honest.

The tech conference was a complete success, too, both men enjoying their time there, and Tony even had Peter home on late Sunday in time for school on Monday. As he watched the kid clamber up the stairs from the car, big suitcases in each hand, he resolved to do this more often.

 

*

 

The reminder of how all of this looked to an outsider followed suit soon after. Again. The press had mostly stopped hassling his PR department for an official statement on his and Peter’s relationship beyond _it’s just a damn_ _internshi_ p, and even Pepper didn’t get that much of a pinched look anymore when he mentioned where he had taken Peter to dinner this week.

So, Tony had settled into their comfy little routine, and had not thought much about it, just went with what he felt like doing, which was usually buying Peter something, taking Peter somewhere expensive, developing new tech for Peter. Apart from all his other responsibilities, of course, because while he did sometimes go over the top, he wasn’t that bad. He was a functioning adult. For the most part.

But no matter all that, he couldn’t ignore everyone’s opinion forever, though he did try. Valiantly.

He had met MJ, the little spitfire, once or twice, so he wasn’t alarmed when he saw a notification of a text from her show up on Peter’s phone. The teen had left it with Tony while fetching something from the kitchen, god, Tony remembered being that age and being hungry _all the time_. The phone was screen up next to Tony, so it was only natural to glance over when the screen lit up with the message.

_are you gonna stay with ur sugar daddy much longer or are you coming to movie night ned’s already here text me_

Tony read the message twice (the writing style and punctuation, or lack thereof, made him despair), the words sugar daddy staring up at him accusatorily. Well, that wasn’t true, he decided. He wasn’t Peter’s sugar daddy. Or was he? Granted, he bought him a lot of stuff, took him out to fancy restaurants a lot but that didn’t mean they had that kind of relationship. He didn’t expect Peter to give him anything back, least of all sexual favors, no matter how attractive the kid admittedly was, with his big brown eyes and lithe body.

But no, Tony told himself. It just made is sound so clinical, and dirty at the same time, like everyone knew what was going on even if they had no clue.

He shook the thoughts of, huffed at himself. How ridiculous, to get so worked up over something that was clearly meant as a joke. When did he get so touchy about that subject, anyway?

He ignored the part of him that suggested that maybe, just maybe, denial wasn’t just a river in Egypt.

Bah, humbug, he told himself and went back to fiddling with the wires of the suit, waiting for Peter to come back.

 

*

 

Time, and management thereof, was a fickle thing, and nobody knew that better than Anthony Howard Stark. It felt like not even a month had passed since he and Peter had become so, hm, close. And then it was already the kid’s seventeenth birthday.

Tony took him out to dinner, obviously, a seven-course meal at the Hilton, and gave him an obscenely expensive Rolex watch over dessert and tried to block out the part of him that kept whispering _legal legal he’s legal now_.

Peter blushed a pretty pink in the candlelight, and Tony, inexplicably, had to think of those two little words again. _Sugar daddy_.

But it wasn’t like that, it wasn’t. It had become a mantra at this point, a meaningless phrase Tony used to calm himself down when Pepper looked at his spending records, disapproval written in every line of her face.

 

*

 

At the tail-end of September, May’s Volvo 200 gave up the ghost for good. Peter had mentioned the car a few times before, but it had always seemed to hold together, and Tony had even given him pointers on how to make sure the engine made it for a little while longer.

When Tony heard, by way of Peter complaining over text (just informing Tony, not expecting anything), he considered it for only a minute. Then he gave FRIDAY some instructions. Too late, he figured. Might as well embrace it.

 

*

 

So yes, he did buy the Parkers a new car. So what?

He had a pretty lengthy discussion with Aunt May on the phone over it, but in the end, she gave up and accepted the car, after Tony reminded her that she could use the money intended for a new car for Peter’s college fund now, but not before cursing him out and threatening to come for him if he so much as touched Peter. Which, fair.

Tony’s parting words were, “Oh, and by the way, your rent has also been covered for this month. Great talking to you! Okay, bye!” Then he hung up.

That hadn’t gone as badly as imagined.

 

*

 

He felt vaguely guilty after, something about cookie jars and hands and teenage boys, but it only lasted until the next day, when Peter profusely thanked him for the car - a new Audi with great safety rating and low mileage - , a sweet sincerity in the wetness of his voice, his eyes, and Tony patted his shoulder in what he hoped was a fatherly fashion and told him, like always, not to worry about it.

 

*

 

After that, all bets were off. Kind of hard to top a car, anyway, so they continued like before, if not slightly worse. Or better? Who even was to say.

 

*

 

It all came to a head in Paris. Of course it fucking did, because sometimes Tony’s life was nothing if not cliché.

He had been entertaining the idea of taking Peter on another trip for a while, and when Pepper, in no uncertain terms, told him to get his ass to France for a board director meeting – well. No time like the present.

 

*

 

“– and I also read about the history of the city, which is really interesting, if you’re into that kind of stuff, and – oh! We definitely have to get macarons a lot, there’s this little bakery in Queens, and they sometimes have some, so I thought, hey, those are pretty great, but the original would probably still be, y’know, a lot better – “

Tony half-smiled and let the kid ramble on, taking a sip of his Bloody Mary. They had been airborne for only half an hour, and Peter had yet to stop talking a mile a minute. Tony didn’t mind the enthusiasm - he never did with Peter -, but he had been to Paris before, like almost everywhere in the Western world, so he wasn’t as excited.

_The exciting part is going to be Peter_ , a treacherous voice in his mind whispered. Tony had become misery buddies with that voice over the last few months, though he wished he hadn’t. He tried to drown it out with another drink.

 

*

 

Outside the airport, there was a classic black Rolls Royce waiting for them, and Peter gaped at the lavish design, the seats, the quiet assuredness of money and luxury. It made something dark in Tony curl in satisfaction. Not exactly happy to be able to show off, no, this was different, a desire to keep showing the kid what he could provide him with, what his life could look like, if he just _let_ Tony.

The car, complete with a driver probably named Pierre or Emanuél or something equally fancy, took them to the Shangri-La Hotel, ridiculously close to the Eiffel tower. Judging by the way Peter was almost vibrating out of his seat with excitement, he didn’t miss that little fact either.

The first problem arose when they were standing at the reception and the assistant manager was already there to greet them. Tony didn’t really listen to what he was saying, only heard key phrases like _double booking_ and _only one bed_ and _terribly embarrassed, Mr. Stark_.

“So what’s gonna happen?” Tony interrupted the man when it became clear he wasn’t going to stop apologizing profusely any time soon.

“Of course there are other rooms available, more suited for two guests. Obviously free of charge for you. Just the direct view of the Eiffel tower will be missing, I’m afraid, but I assure you –“

“D-direct view?” Peter piped up, looking at Tony. “You booked us a room where we can see the Eiffel tower? You mean, just like that? Outside our window?”

Tony sighed. “Not a room, kid, a suite. With two bedrooms,” he felt he had to point out that part, “and a roof-top terrace. So we could have breakfast, and overlook the scenery, kind of get that whole café-and-croissant shtick. Authenticity.” As authentic as a first-class hotel could get, anyway.

Peter’s hand shot up, seemingly on instinct, to tug on Tony’s jacket. “But, uh, the only problem is that there’s only one bed, right?” He looked at the manager, and then the receptionist. They nodded, so he kept going. “Well, it’s a king-size bed, right, so I – I don’t really care, Mr. Stark. Can we take that room, please? Just, uh, just imagine waking up, and, and the Eiffel tower…” He trailed off when he saw Tony’s expression.

Tony didn’t know what his face was doing at the moment, but he assumed it wasn’t good. Sure, he’d love to share a bed with Peter, and that was the exact reason why he shouldn’t.

Yet when he looked into Peter’s pleading eyes, he found all his arguments against were suddenly gone.

“Sure, if you don’t mind, kid,” he heard himself say, and Peter’s enthusiastic whoop almost drowned out the voice in the back of his head that was asking him what on earth he’d gotten himself into now.

 

*

 

They left their luggage at the hotel, changed quickly, and went on to eat something. It was a bit later than Tony had anticipated, so he made a few calls and got them a table at Laurent.

The gardens outside were beautiful, on the lower levels of the Champs-Elyssées, the staff attentive, and the wine menu extensive.  Yet nothing could hold a candle to the looks of pure, unadulterated joy on Peter’s face when he tried as many meals as possible. Jesus, when had Tony become such a sap?

 

*

 

When they came back to the hotel, the press was waiting outside for them, a veritable mob armed with flashes and microphones.

The paparazzi back home had calmed down over the last few months, used to seeing the two of them together, but here, it was different. It had been quite some time since Tony had been to France last, and the local gossip tabloids were falling all over themselves for lucrative shots of “Tony Stark and his young lover”.  Fuck.

“Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark – “

“What do you say to  – “

“Over here, Mr.  Stark, would you smile for us, please – “

Tony played their game, smiling and dazzling them with his charms, while trying to get Peter inside the hotel as quickly as possible, who was looking a lot overwhelmed. Tony was waving, steering Peter with one hand on his lower back, when he heard it: “Mr. Stark, what do you say to the accusations of taking advantage of Mr. Parker?”

Tony turned, fixing the reporter with a hard gaze. _I didn’t touch him_ , he wanted to say. _He’s of legal age in New York._ _It’s none of your fucking business_. Damn vultures. Acting like he was some kind of child molester.

“No comment,” he said through gritted teeth. He really needed to get them inside, but again, a bunch of microphones were shoved in his face.

“Mr. Stark are you really his sugar daddy?”

“W-what?” Peter yelped, turning an incriminating shade of red. “No, what even – I…”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Tony said, barely keeping from shoving Peter through the revolving doors into the lobby. “Playtime’s over, children! Have a lovely evening!”

He sighed when the door swung behind them, and they were, finally, safe. He reached up, loosening his tie, and then glanced at Peter, who was still looking a bit shell-shocked. Poor kid.

Tony put a hand on his shoulder, a friendly nudge. “Well then. Shall we?”

 


	3. Chapter 3

When they had arrived earlier that day, neither Tony nor Peter had taken the time to properly appreciate the beautiful room they were staying in.

The view was fantastic, even Tony had to admit that. The big French windows from the living area, with big white, soft looking couches opened directly onto a terrace that housed a set of intricate garden furniture, wrought from iron and full of delicate ornaments. The Eiffel tower was visible from there, now glowing softly into the night. It would make a great spot for breakfast tomorrow, Tony noted, and for relaxing in the sun before they had to leave for the meeting in the early afternoon.

“Woah,” Peter said in a hushed tone, clearly still in awe.

Tony smiled and reached out to tussle his hair. “You said it, buddy.”

Peter turned, his eyes shining in the dimmed light. “Is this how you always travel? Like, stay in hotels this fancy? I know the hotel in Germany was kinda similar, the one time with the conference, not the fight, y’know. But this… wow.”

“Yeah. I know. Glad to see you enjoy it so much, but it’s not that fancy, I’ve had lunch more expensive than this suite. Come to think of it, that was probably the alcohol, that’s what happens if you want the good stuff. Not that you’d know. I hope.”

Peter snorted, shook his head. “Hey, you wanna check out the terrace?” Before Tony could respond, he was already in motion, pushing open the door and letting the evening breeze in. By now, it was completely dark outside. The terrace was set softly aglow with strategically placed lanterns reminiscent of the ones on the streets six stories down.

Tony followed Peter outside, taking a deep breath of fresh air and smiling again when he heard Peter exhale sharply, excitedly, as he spotted the champagne cooler on the white tablecloth. Tony had not ordered that, but he certainly didn’t mind the extra booze.

“Look, Mr. Stark, the staff must have arranged for this, I – I don’t think I’ve ever even seen this brand?” He turned around, the bottle of champagne in his hand, the condensation pearling down on the side.

“You better not have, kid,” Tony said, “you’re still too young for that. Besides,” he took the bottle from Peter, “you wouldn’t be able to appreciate it, anyway.” His face was stern, but Peter could probably hear the gentle teasing behind his words.

Peter rolled his eyes, a rare moment of sass. “I’m almost eighteen, what exactly do you think teenagers do nowadays at parties? Form a prayer circle? Discuss the political landscape of America?”

Tony laughed. “There’s always the hope that the next generation will be better than we were when I was your age. Yes, I know, it’s been a million years, ha ha.”

“You’re not that old, Mr. Stark. You pretend like you’re so ancient, and, and like you’ve been around when they built the railroad, but you’re not fooling anyone.” As Peter spoke, his voice got quiet, serious. “You’re not fooling me.”

Tony’s mouth was horribly dry all of a sudden, and he only noticed now how close they were standing, how the light hit Peter’s pretty eyes just so, his gorgeous mouth – no. No, Tony, bad. Don’t perv on the teenager, he told himself.

He took a step back, holding the bottle up. He cleared his throat. “Maybe we’ll make an exception today, hm? I’m pretty sure you’re allowed to drink wine in France if you’re a baby, so. Really not that bad.”

Peter kept looking at him, weirdly intense for a second, then he nodded, “Sounds awesome,” and smiled at Tony like he’d hung the stars and then plucked them down again just for Peter, and Tony would, he _would_.

He went back inside in search of a corkscrew, and, frankly, some damn peace of mind. He seriously needed a break. Peter was just too adorable. He could, in some way, appreciate the irony of the situation, them sitting outside together, sharing a glass of champagne while looking at the Eiffel tower. That was about as romantic as anything could possibly ever get. And he really, really shouldn’t be thinking that, should in fact not even consider Peter an option. But when had Tony Stark ever done what was expected of him?

 

*

 

“Oh wow,” was all Peter said when he tried the champagne. “Bubbly, but, like, subtly bubbly?”

“Have you never had champagne before? Are we popping your champagne cherry right now? Should I have lit some candles, set the mood a little?” God, what was Tony even saying at this point?

Yet Peter simply giggled, the pure delight in the sound stealing Tony’s breath away. It took all the shaky remains of Tony’s self-control to not just go over there where Peter was sitting, lift him onto the table and have his wicked way with him.

“Are you feeling it already, Spider-Boy? C’mon, really? I thought the bite made you more resistant, or something?”

Peter shook his head. “No, it – well, it just made my metabolism a lot faster, so I sober up easier, but –”

“You also get drunk crazy fast! No, really? You’re kidding. You’re probably just a lightweight. Good excuse, though, I give you that, Parker.”

They lapsed into silence for a bit, and Tony thought maybe they should head to bed soon. He could take one of the couches, and tomorrow everything would be so busy he might just make it through this trip without, y’know.

“This is really awesome,” Peter said into the silence, swirling the remaining champagne in his flute, sparkly in the low light. Then, apropos nothing, “I sorta get why they think you’re my sugar daddy.”

Tony choked on his champagne. Peter waited for him to stop coughing which gave Tony a moment to gather himself. “Where’s that coming from suddenly, kid?”

“I don’t know, I just…” Peter shrugged, soft sadness flickering over his face for a second. “I mean, obviously I know better, you’re just trying to be nice, not – that. Not trying to be my, um, sugar daddy or anything.” He was blushing like crazy but pressed on regardless. “But I don’t know whether I – I just wish. Wish you would. Feel that way about me.”

“What?” Tony Stark, finally rendered speechless - by a seventeen-year old. Oh, if his father could see him now.

Peter shrugged, looking into his champagne like it held all the answers. “This stuff must be stronger than I thought,” he mumbled.  “Don’t worry, I know it’s all just in my head, that it’s not how you feel about me at all, but I can’t keep – I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

“What.”

Peter smiled apologetically, his mien a bit wobbly like he was holding back tears. It broke Tony’s heart.

Tony rubbed a hand over his face, not sure how the evening had deteriorated so fast. What it all came down to was, Peter was into Tony, and Tony? Was definitely into Peter, when he looked past the mountain of denial he had buried himself under.

So either he let Peter keep believing that Tony didn’t feel the same way about him, or. No. There was no second option. He had to be a responsible adult, once in his life at least.

What came out of his mouth instead was, “You can take as much advantage of me as you like, kid, seriously. Anytime.” He winced at how suggestive that sounded. Apparently, Peter didn’t pick up on that, though.

Instead he sighed, putting his champagne flute on the table and getting up to stand by the railing, his back to Tony. Maybe he thought that’d make it easier, Tony didn’t know.

“I just wish it was like everyone thinks,” Peter said quietly. “Not for, uh, the money, obviously, I don’t care about the money. I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, but I mean it.”

He turned around, his eyes blown wide, looking so young and beautiful and earnest, and Tony’s hand clenched around the stem of his flute. “Damn it,” he muttered, also putting it down. Inside him, his desire for Peter’s soft flesh was warring with his conscience, his responsibilities. His morals.

There was a precedence for those kinds of fights within Tony, though, and it was not in favor of self-control. Fuck it, he thought after a minute. Let them come for his immortal soul, or whatever.

It was surprisingly simple to give in. With a few steps he bridged the distance between him and Peter, reaching for Peter, and, with the final abandon of a man descending right into hell, pulled him as close as could be. Then, looking at the boy who was holding his breath in anticipation, seemingly unable to believe what was happening, he kissed him, finally, _finally_ , hard and deep.

Peter made a sound, kind of like _meep_ , into Tony’s mouth before getting with the program, clumsily reciprocating, his hands settling on Tony’s shoulders softly, as if still waiting for official permission.

“It could be,” Tony breathed into the space between them after they separated, hot and quiet.

“Hm?”

“It could be like you want it to be, like everyone else already thinks it is – whatever you want, kid. Baby. Anything, _anything_. You just say the word.”

“I – I just want to give you something back,” said a dazed Peter, oblivious of the hole it ripped into Tony’s chest, right next to where the arc reactor used to be.

“Sweetheart – “

“Not out of obligation, or, or like some misguided sense of debt. I want to make you happy, too, Mr. Stark.”

Tony laughed, pulling Peter into a tender embrace. “Kid, _sweetheart_ , you’re already making me happy, understand? No need to pull out the grand gestures and stop me at the airport or something. You had me at hello. Well, more like at _Mr. Stark_ , but that’s totally not relevant right now.”

“Oh,” Peter said, and it’s this amazing sound, happy and surprised and incredulous at the same time. “I mean, me too, obviously.”

“So,” he said, taking Peter’s face in his hands, tilting it upwards so he can see those pretty eyes again, “tell me what you want. Do you really want this? ‘Cause I need you to be so, so sure.”

Peter was still blushing, but he nodded, smiling coyly. “I just want you, Mr. Stark.”

Tony downright _growled_ and pressed the kid into the railing again, something inside him soothed, warm in his chest like pride, primal satisfaction.

It took him a while to realize that they should probably take this inside, that he couldn’t maul Peter outside, but he was too preoccupied with the way Peter’s body went pliant beneath his hands, how he seemed to hang onto Tony’s shoulders for dear life, so it took a minute or two until he started guiding a flustered Peter into the suite again, the bedroom this time, where the big king-size bed was waiting, a reminder where this was heading dangerously fast.

Tony’s self-control was FUBAR at this point. Screw everybody and what they would say anyway. He only cared about the quiet moans, little sobs of pleasure, that Peter couldn’t hold back with Tony’s tongue exploring his sweet mouth.

“Off,” Tony commanded, tugging at Peter’s clothes. The teenager was almost falling all over himself in eagerness. 

They wasted no time in getting their clothes off, Tony perfunctory and quick while Peter struggled quite a bit, Spidey senses surely going haywire. That was just fine, though, Tony had a gazillion fantasies of peeling the kid out of his cute, little suit, anyway, right onto the bed, thin frame and coltish legs and all.

Peter could barely say “oomph!”, bouncing a bit on the sheets, reaching for Tony, before Tony was on him again, parting Peter’s thighs and making a space for himself there.

Peter’s skin was so soft under Tony’s calloused hands, and the way he was writhing beneath Tony in barely concealed excitement made everything that much hotter. He was moaning into Tony’s mouth like he couldn’t believe it, like he was panting for it, and it was hitting all of Tony’s buttons.

“So you wanna be my sugar baby?” he asked in between kisses, pressing Peter deeper into the bed and wrapping a hand around Peter’s cute little cock, already leaking copious amounts of pre-come. “You wanna be a good boy, baby? Fuck, you’re so pretty like this, makes me wanna take you apart. ” He bit down on Peter’s collar bone, leaving a visible mark, and continued downwards while stroking Peter.

“Y-yes, please, Mr. Stark.” Peter whimpered, dug his hands into Tony’s hair and pulled. “Wanna be good for you, just for you, please.”

“You are, babe, you’re doing so well, letting me put my hands all over your pretty skin. You’re such a good boy for Daddy.”

As soon as it left his mouth, Tony wanted to take it back, didn’t want to ask for things that were not welcome, but then Peter made a sound like he was dying and came onto his stomach with a sob.

“O-oh, sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just --” Peter was kind of incoherent at this point, and Tony was definitely into that, more than what was comfortable.

He kissed Peter, lips, forehead, tip of his nose. “Calm down, sweetheart, it’s fine. Better than fine, actually.” He felt a wicked grin pulling at the corners of his mouth as he dragged a finger through the mess on Peter’s stomach, and Peter moaned weakly, clearly overwhelmed.

“Something you wanna share with the class, gorgeous?” Tony asks, tasting the cooling come on his fingers. “God, I could just eat you alive. Didn’t expect you to be so kinky. You want me to be your daddy? Want me to put you over my knee and punish you for being such a dirty boy?”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Stark –“

“Nuh uh,” said Tony. “Scream it like you mean it. I’m not Mr. Stark to you, now am I, doll?”

Peter sighed a sweet, “Please, Daddy, do whatever you want,” and Tony just had to shut him up with a long, dirty kiss, sharing the taste of Peter between them. Fuck, Peter should not sound as sexy as he did, so innocent while his voice and body were beckoning Tony to do even more dirtybadwrong things to him until he cried.

(Christ, Tony was an even kinkier fucker than previously thought.)

Tony grinned into Peter’s mouth, picturing everything he wanted to do to Peter, now and later, and thought that, fuck it, he might as well get started on that.

They had all night, after all.

 

*

 

When Peter woke up, he was a little disoriented, still fuzzy from the night before. Mr. Stark was not next to him anymore, but he could hear someone outside on the terrace. He put on his boxers and Mr. Stark’s dress shirt like the world’s worst cliché, and padded outside, bare feet and everything.

Mr. Stark – _Tony_ , after everything that happened yesterday – was sitting at the table, facing the Eiffel tower, and smoking a cigarette. In front of him sat the most lavish breakfast Peter had ever seen, loads of everything delicious, and Tony was not even touching any of it.

“M-morning.”

At the sound of Peter’s voice, Tony turned, grinned at him. “My, my, aren’t you a sight to behold.” His eyes roamed over Peter’s lithe frame in the too big dress shirt, and Peter shivered. He sat down next to Tony, the smoke from the cigarette burning his nostrils, and it had to show on his face because Tony snorted, amused, and stubbed it out.

“Filthy habit,” he said, “but it helps with the anxiety.”

Peter could relate, and of course he knew about Mr. Stark’s panic attacks. Still, he asked, “Anything in specific?”, even though he feared he knew the answer already.

Tony gave him a look like _duh_ , and reached for the coffee pot, steam billowing up out of the beautiful porcelain spout.

“Are you mad?” Peter asked, fidgety. “’Cause if you are, it’s not just my fault, it –”

“Takes two to tango?” Tony raised an eyebrow, gently blew into his coffee. “Why, yes, Mr. Parker, indeed it does. It’s only a problem if one of the two doing the tangoing is technically not of age yet…”

“I am of age,” Peter protested. “In New York, anyway. And here! So it obviously doesn’t matter that much, to you or to me. I mean, why would it matter to me, that’d be kinda weird, so. Yeah.”

Tony sighed. “You’re right.”

“And I – wait, what? I am?”

“Absolutely. Legally speaking, this,” Tony gestured between the two of them, “it’s perfectly fine. Morally? Totally different story. If this goes public, and yes, I know, everyone has their suspicions, but that’s still far away from actual confirmation, like showing up at an event –“

“Stop, stop, wait.” Peter had to be getting something wrong here, right? No way that Tony – “Are you saying…. that you’re just worried about how this will be look? In the press, or whatever? You’re actually okay with this?”

Tony snorted. “I thought I made that _abundantly_ clear last night.”

“Yeah, sure, you did, last night, but I thought - today?”

“What, you thought I’d wake up and suddenly I change my mind about your barely legal ass?”

“I guess?” 

“Kid, I’m too old for mood swings like that. Have been since the 90s. If I say something, I mean it. This here, it’s definitely a thing, a boyfriend-romance-all that jazz situation.” Tony’s voice had gotten distinctly softer by the time he reached the end of that sentence.

He almost spilled his coffee when Peter climbed into his lap without warning, just a little too fast for a regular human, and Peter plucks the cup from his hands, safely depositing it on the table behind them before leaning in.

“You mean it? Mr. Stark? Tony? You really –“

“I promise, kid,” Tony said, putting his hands on Peter’s waist as if to stabilize him. When he kissed Peter, it felt like the finish line after marathon, like finally breathing right.

It also felt like a beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who stayed with this story till the end <3  
> Please don't crucify me for the lack of actual bedsharing. It wasn't where the story lead me in the end.  
> Thanks, you've been awesome!


End file.
